


Orega-No

by MSpataro210



Series: Season 11 Inspired [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean, Bongs, Brotherly Bonding, Coda, Coming Out, Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s11e19 The Chitters, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Sam's a better smoker than he lets on, Stoner Dean Winchester, Stoner Sam Winchester, The Winchesters are such stoners, This is fluffy and funny but also filled with some real emotional stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6910099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSpataro210/pseuds/MSpataro210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wasn't the innocent college kid he would like us to believe.  When given the opportunity to smoke, he jumps at the chance, and convinces Dean to join him.  Their first time smoking together, however, leads to some pretty interesting results.  New information, funny reactions, and realizations can all come from a little flick of the lighter.</p><p>Coda to 11x19</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orega-No

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! I know this may seem a tad out of order, but I've had an intention of writing this for awhile. Actually, this was to be shorter and there was supposed to be another fic very similar to this. But I kind of rolled the two into one because where I liked the substance of the one fic, the concept and flow of the other was so much better. So I hope you enjoy!

            “Sammy, what’s this?”

            Dean throws the baggie on the small table the motel provided in each room. Sam smirks up at Dean, hazel eyes bright and playful.

            “I thought you knew, Dean,” Sam teases, “or have many of your great stories been _exaggerated_?”

            Dean rolls his eyes. “Of course I know what it _is,_ Sam-squatch. What I want to know is why I found it in your suit pocket!”

            Sam leans back in his seat. “Well, after we wrapped up the case, I decided to go back to the Sherriff’s department to reassure her everything was ‘alright’ and that nothing strange had happened or will, ever again,” Sam explains, “when I notice she’s bringing some of this _stuff_ down to Narcotics. It’s what was taken from Cori and Libby’s car. So I ask her if I can have some to, you know, _test_. Maybe see if there’s something in there that caused Cori to ‘hallucinate’ and all that. Gave it to me without a fuss.”

            “No kidding?” Dean smiles, “But did you get-“

            “In the closet.”

            Dean pauses for a beat. Then, he turns tail and rushes to the cheap, wicker door. He pulls it open, almost off its hinges, and looks down. Sitting in a small box is a very pretty, purple and pink glass blown bong. He picks it up with careful fingers and delicate touches, returning to his brother.

            “Sweet,” he whistles, “This isn’t like the cheap plastic of our heyday.”

            “It’s probably the most expensive thing we now own,” Sam comments lazily.

            Dean stops admiring the instrument in front of him and looks up at his brother. He raises a brow.

            “Well, besides all of the artifacts in the Bunker,” Sam relents, “and the one we drive in.”

            “Hey!”

            “Anyway,” Sam moves on, opening the baggie, “let’s put it to good use.”

            “Whoa there, Morrison,” Dean pulls the glass closer to him, “maybe we save the party for when we don’t have the weight of the world on our shoulders?”

            “Like there’ll ever be a time for that,” Sam scoffs.

            “Still,” Dean continues, “I don’t think pulling a Cheech & Chong right now is the smartest thing to do.”

            Sam sighs. He drags a hand down his face, and gets up. He paces towards the bed.

            “Look, Dean,” he turns, “there’ll never be a right time. There’s always gonna be… something, waiting in the shadows for us. And I know how stressed we’ve been-how stressed _you’ve_ been-and, well, this is less destructive than alcohol, at least.”

            Dean looks down at the bong in his hands. He moves his thumb across its smooth surface, petting it. He considers everything behind his stormy green eyes.

            “Come on, Dean,” Sam tries again, falling onto the bed “you’re gonna kill yourself before we even defeat Amara-or…or even save _Cas_!” He smirks, playing his ace, “I’m pretty sure he’s going to want to see _you_ when we free him from the Devil and not some overworked husk.”

            Dean fixes his mouth slightly. In his mind, the decision is made. He drags his other hand across the table to the open baggie. He squishes his fingers in the sticky plant, grabbing some to place in the small bowl sticking out of the cylindrical glass.

            He looks up at Sam, smiling softly, “Got a light?”

            Sam jumps up, towards his duffle.

            Dean laughs, “Draw the blinds and dim the lights, Sammy. If we’re doing this we’re doing it _right_.”

            Sam places the lighter in Dean’s hand before doing as his brother asks. Dean takes in the small, cheap gas station lighter before flicking it to life. He brings it to the bowl, lighting the herb. Dean moves his mouth to the mouthpiece, fingers tight on the neck. He breathes in, the smoke warm and familiar as it settles into his throat. He places it down on the table, the lighter following it as he holds his breathe. The smoke escapes slowly as Dean releases his hold on it. He watches as it floats slowly to the ceiling, dissipating in the air near the fire alarms that probably haven’t worked in over ten years. He chuckles a bit, wiping his tongue across his lips. The taste is recognizable, but definitely stronger than he remembers. He looks to his left to see Sam had already reclaimed his seat and the glass pipe, taking his own lungful. It’s much deeper than his, making him question all the innocent stories Sam force-fed Dean about college.

            But soon enough his mind is on other things. 

* * *

 

            The room is a haze. An hour has passed since the brothers first lit the stolen goods up, and their supply has already started to dwindle. Sam has sprawled himself on the floor, his upper body supported by the bed behind him. He watches television with lazy, bloodshot eyes and a vacant smile, not caring for storyline or character: his only interest is the colors. Dean, on the other hand, is splayed on the bed. His eyes track his hand as it moves back and forth his field of vision.

            “Dude,” Dean rasps, smile wide, “my hand is like, like a butterfly.”

            “What?” Sam coughs, smoke escaping his pink lips.

            “A butterfly,” Dean moves, crawling closer to Sam. He waves his hand in front of Sam’s face. “Like, it’s dancing on the wind like a butterfly!”

            “I think you smoked too much, dude,” Sam says, giggling.

            “Whatever,” he shrugs, “hand me the bong.”

            Sam doesn’t listen, however, as he’s too busy laughing. Dean grabs it from him as Sam sinks fully on the floor, controlled by his giggling fit. Dean puts it to his lips to take another hit, releasing the smoke into the air again, only for it to not dissipate. It hangs in the air along with the rest of the rips the brothers shared.

            The laughter quiets down in a bit, leaving Sam heaving for air.

            “What were you laughing about?”

            “Dude I have _no_ idea.”

            Dean stands, the world tipping for a moment. He shakes, but doesn’t fall over. His smile doesn’t falter either. The glass is loose in his grip as he moves forward. He reaches for the bag on the table, only to find there’s nothing left. He pouts.

            “There’s no more left.”

            “What?” Sam whines, “Dude, no.”

            “Dude, yes,” Dean sinks to the floor. His legs spread out before him.

            After awhile Sam pipes up: “Hey Dean?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Is there any more weed?”

            Dean thinks for a beat before answering, “…I’ll check!”

            He tries to stand again, only to fall over on himself. With each try, every attempt is done with less and less commitment as the laughter overpowers his muscles. In the end, he lies on his side, chuckling.

            “Sammy,” Dean sings, “think you can get it? My legs n’ arms are all… _jelly_.”

            Sam pushes himself up with an overdramatic groan. He walks like a newborn calf towards the table. However, the strength of the strain has seriously affected the larger man’s coordination. Instead of taking a final step forward towards the table, he swings his foot into nearby chair at full-strength. He falls on his butt, hands gripping at his bruising toes. He rubs the skin, hissing in pain.

            “What happened?” Dean pushes himself up.

            Sam glares at the chair, “The chair hit me.”

            “No one hurts m’Sammy,” Dean slurs, standing at full height. He goes to attack the chair, kicking it, only to end up in a similar position as his brother.

            As the two sit there, rubbing their feet, the quiet takes over. Not for long, though. The silence is too inviting, and all the marijuana flooding through Dean’s blood relaxes his defenses. Makes it so Dean can’t contain his thoughts. So much so he just blurts out of nowhere:

            “I wish Cas were here.”

            “I know, dude,” Sam leans back on his hands, pain ebbing away fast due to the plant in his system, “If he was here we could be, like, rolling in so much weed and _never_ have to leave this room.”

            “Not because of that,” Dean rolls his eyes, “Well, I mean, partly that: because that’d be pretty _sweet_. But mostly I want him here because, like, I just _do_ , dude.”

            “Aww,” Sam coos, “Someone’s got a _crush_!”

            “Shuddup,” Dean blushes, lazily pushing his brother’s shoulder. It sends the tall man on his side. It doesn’t take long for Sam to scramble back up.

            “You so do, dude,” Sam continues, “I never mentioned it before, but, like, sometimes I hear you mumblin’ his name in your sleep.”

            “I do?”

            “Totally.”

            Dean quiets for a minute before asking, “Do I say anything else?”

            “Not stuff _I_ wanna say, man,” Sam laughs, “s’intimate.”

            “Crap,” Dean huffs, “Thought I was really good about all that.”

            “So you do?” Sam tilts his head, like a puppy.

            “Do what?”

            “Have a crush on Cas?”

            Dean looks off to the right before swinging back to face Sam with a large smile. “Yeah,” he answers, “I guess I do.”

            “I can understand, man,” Sam nods.

            “What?”

            “I mean, I get the appeal,” Sam leans back on the bedframe, arms folding behind his head, “but he’s not my type. I can see how the blue eyes, scruff, and voice can be, like, sexy. But my type of sexy is… well, women.”

            “Women are great, aren’t they?” Dean sags next to Sam, “But, like, so are dudes… dude.”

            “Both?”

            “Totally!” Dean smiles, perking up, “I mean, one’s soft and curvy and, like, that’s good from time to time. But, sometimes I really just want something a little more harder and rougher, with more sharp edges than smooth.”

            “Woah…” Sam gapes, looking at Dean in a new light, “Did you just come out to me?”

            Dean blanches, looking away. He licks his lips, “I, uh, I guess I did.”

            The hug he gets is surprising, sending both Winchesters and their long frames sprawling on the floor.

            “I’m so proud of you!”

            “What?”

            Sam lifts his head from Dean’s shoulder to stare at his brother with bright, red tint eyes. “I’ve been waiting for this moment _forever_!” Sam explains, “I bought all these tapes and books, to like, approach the subject, but never found the right time! But I didn’t need to! All I needed was to get you _high!_ ”

            “You’re… _okay_ with this?” Dean asks, still unsure, “You’re _happy_?”

            “Dean, I’m _ecstatic_ ,” Sam says, straight, before bursting into a contagious smile that has Dean feeling the corners of his face lifting up once more. Sam rolls off his brother to lay next to him. There’s little space on the motel floor, but they make it work. It helps that the substance they smoked still courses through their system. Makes them care less about how they may need to bend.

            “I’m… glad you’re happy, then,” Dean starts, “If I’m being honest, well then I might as well say I’ve been waiting for the right time to approach you about it, too.”

            “You were?” Sam asks, “When?”

            “Ever since I came back from being a demon,” Dean explains, “I, uh, did some things I never really acted on until I had those black eyes.”

            “No way?” Sam lights up, “Like what?”

            Dean smiles, leaning in, “Triplets: Greg, Steve, and Bobby.”

            “Boy, when you do something, or _someone_ , you go all out.”

            Dean leans back, proudly, “Only way I know how.”

            “Wait,” Sam sits up, looking down at his brother, “You’re not just going to fuck Cas? Like, you know the dude deserves more than that.”

            “You really think I’m gonna do that to _Cas_?” Dean joins him upright, “Sure, I want to fuck him-well, maybe the other way around, really-but I want… _more_.”

            “More?”

            “Yeah, more,” Dean continues, “Like… Jesse and Cesar more.”

            Sam is shocked silent. Dean doesn’t know if it was what he said or a resurgence of the weed in Sam’s body, but soon enough the younger Winchester resumes talking.

            “You wanna… wanna get _married_?”

            Dean turns, pulling his knees up to his chest. He feels heavier, the smoke making its way through him faster, the conversation pulling him back down from his high.

            “One day, maybe,” Dean smiles, looking at a small stain on the carpet, “Some nights, I just stare at Mom’s ring and wonder how it would look on his finger, y’know? I really think he’s it for me, Sammy. When I picture myself, years down the road, sure I see us all together. But I see it with me ‘n’ Cas in a little bungalow down by the beach. The Impala sitting comfortably in the driveway, while Cas and I spend most of our days relaxing on the porch watching the waves roll in and out. But maybe now I’ll add some weed to that future. I mean, I also see you, there too, so don’t feel left out. Walking a Golden Retriever named Moose. You like that Sam? …Sam?”

            He turns, eyes wide. But soon, they shrink, lines crinkling around the edges. A soft smile stretches across his face.

            Sam, next to him, had fallen asleep without warning. He snores softly, his arms spread out wide next to him. It looks as if he fell asleep half way through making a snow angel.

            Dean chuckles. He picks himself up slowly before bending down to get Sam. He’s out cold. Dean has to drag him to his bed, flopping him onto the rough bed sheets without so much as a whimper of protest from the younger hunter.

            The elder decides he might as well sleep, too. He strips off the layers slowly, each article of clothing reeking of the odor of marijuana. He tosses them into his duffel, deciding he’ll wash it tomorrow. Down to only a t-shirt and boxers, Dean pulls back the covers before he spies something from the closet.

            He moves closer, looking into the box where Sam kept the bong. Inside, he finds another, smaller pipe and dime bag of weed. He looks behind him, where Sam sleeps. However, his body makes the choice before him when it reaches in to grab the two items.

            “Some more really wouldn’t hurt…” 

* * *

 

            “Get up!”

            Dean blinks open bleary eyes, slowly, as if they were glued shut. He tries to get his bearings, but the stale taste of weed haunts his cottony mouth. He looks up at his brother, already dressed for the day, staring down at him with disapproving eyes.

            “What?”

            “I can’t believe you smoked the rest of the weed I took!” Sam grumbles, “I was saving that for the ride home!”

            “Heh, what can I say,” Dean sits up, rubbing his eye, “I’m a glutton for punishment.”

            “More like a glutton, period,” Sam turns, “Come on, we need to get on the road and you need to get dressed. We’re not going to be able to save my future brother-in-law if the world is destroyed because you were too stoned to put your pants on right.”

            Dean shifts, feet sliding off the bed and onto the carpet. He’s about to stand when Sam’s words fully catch up with him. He’s about to respond, only to notice Sam had already left the room.

            It doesn’t take long for Dean to put on his clothes; they all kind of reek of weed, so he picks the least offensive of the bunch. He shoulders his duffel, making one final sweep of the room before heading towards Sam. His brother stands next to the Impala, map in hand.

            “Ready to go?” Sam asks as Dean puts the bag in the trunk.

            “Sure,” Dean responds, in a clipped manner.

           They get in the car, in their usual spots, only to go nowhere. Dean has both hands on the wheel, his foot on the pedal, yet does not turn the key. Sam’s about to ask what’s wrong before Dean beats him to the punch.

           “Yesterday,” Dean starts, tongue darting out of his lips, a nervous habit, “when we… lit up. I said some things. Things I’m not sure I would have ever said in my life if I weren’t under the influence. You also said some things. But you were also stoned. So… did you…” he gulps, unable to finish the sentence.

           “Dean? Are you seriously asking me if meant what I said about being okay with your bisexuality?”

           Dean turns, questions in his eyes.

           “Because that’s what you are, you know,” Sam continues, “I looked it up awhile ago. You’re bisexual. Dean, I-I know we never had the best life growing up, you didn’t have a safe environment to _really_ explore your desires. But… I’m not going to stop you from doing whatever you feel you should be doing, or _who_ you should be doing. I understand that this is a part of you and I don’t love you any less. No matter if I’m six ways to fucked up or sober as a priest on Sunday, you’re my brother and my best friend: I would love you no matter what.”

           Dean chokes back the tears, looking back out the windshield in futility. The grip on the steering wheel is a stranglehold, and there is so much Dean wants to say, but all he can say is: “…Thanks.”

           “Are _you_ okay, though?” Sam asks, “I know you probably weren’t expecting to let it slip, and honestly I didn’t mean to make you say something you weren’t comfortable telling me until you were ready-“

           “No, Sam,” Dean stops him, “it’s okay. It might not have been what I was expecting but… _honestly_ it’s what I needed. Now that it’s all in the open, and I had time to process it all I feel… _lighter_. I needed to come out. I feel good. Better than I had in a long time, but still not as good as I’ll feel once Amara’s been wiped out and Cas is back home with us.”

           “You mean with you,” Sam smirks.

           “God,” Dean groans, finally starting the car, “I think I liked you better high.”

           “Well, you could have had stoned Sam,” Sam continues, “but you had to smoke the stash I was gonna smoke during the ride home.”

           “…Think the Sheriff will let us take more ‘ _samples_ ’ for the _‘lab_ ’?”

            Sam quiets, until:

            “So we’re going to make a left here. Don’t stop, I’ll put the suit on in the car.”

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy your little... trip into the High Times of the Winchesters? First time I wrote about characters who were under the influence, so I hope I did a good job.  
> Remember, leave kudos if you liked and if you really want to show me the love, drop a comment!


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